Inferno: Canto XXV

The robber, when his words were ended so,
Made both the figs and lifted either fist,
Shouting: 'There, God! for them at thee I throw.'

Then were the snakes my friends; for one 'gan twist
And coiled itself around the sinner's throat,
As if to say: 'Now would I have thee whist.'

Another seized his arms and made a knot,
Clinching itself upon them in such wise
He had no power to move them by a jot.

Pistoia! thou, Pistoia, shouldst devise
To burn thyself to ashes, since thou hast
Outrun thy founders in iniquities.

The blackest depths of Hell through which I passed
Showed me no soul 'gainst God so filled with spite,
No, not even he who down Thebes' wall was cast.

He spake no further word, but turned to flight;
And I beheld a Centaur raging sore
Come shouting: 'Of the ribald give me sight!'

I scarce believe Maremma yieldeth more
Snakes of all kinds than what composed the load
Which on his back, far as our form, he bore.

Behind his nape, with pinions spread abroad,
A dragon couchant on his shoulders lay
To set on fire whoever bars his road.

'This one is Cacus,' did my Master say,
'Who underneath the rock of Aventine
Watered a pool with blood day after day.

Not with his brethren runs he in the line,
Because of yore the treacherous theft he wrought
Upon the neighbouring wealthy herd of kine:

Whence to his crooked course an end was brought
'Neath Hercules' club, which on him might shower down
A hundred blows; ere ten he suffered nought.'

While this he said, the other had passed on;
And under us three spirits forward pressed
Of whom my Guide and I had nothing known

But that: 'Who are ye?' they made loud request.
Whereon our tale no further could proceed;
And toward them wholly we our wits addressed.

I recognised them not, but gave good heed;
Till, as it often haps in such a case,
To name another, one discovered need,

Saying: 'Now where stopped Cianfa in the race?'
Then, that my Guide might halt and hearken well,
On chin and nose I did my finger place.

If, Reader, to believe what now I tell
Thou shouldst be slow, I wonder not, for I
Who saw it all scarce find it credible.

While I on them my brows kept lifted high
A serpent, which had six feet, suddenly flew
At one of them and held him bodily.

Its middle feet about his paunch it drew,
And with the two in front his arms clutched fast,
And bit one cheek and the other through and through.

Its hinder feet upon his thighs it cast,
Thrusting its tail between them till behind,
Distended o'er his reins, it upward passed.

The ivy to a tree could never bind
Itself so firmly as this dreadful beast
Its members with the other's intertwined.

Each lost the colour that it once possessed,
And closely they, like heated wax, unite,
The former hue of neither manifest:

Even so up o'er papyrus, when alight,
Before the flame there spreads a colour dun,
Not black as yet, though from it dies the white.

The other two meanwhile were looking on,
Crying: 'Agnello, how art thou made new!
Thou art not twain, and yet no longer one.'

A single head was moulded out of two;
And on our sight a single face arose,
Which out of both lost countenances grew.

Four separate limbs did but two arms compose;
Belly with chest, and legs with thighs did grow
To members such as nought created shows.

Their former fashion was all perished now:
The perverse shape did both, yet neither seem;
And, thus transformed, departed moving slow.

And as the lizard, which at fierce extreme
Of dog-day heat another hedge would gain,
Flits 'cross the path swift as the lightning's gleam;

Right for the bellies of the other twain
A little snake quivering with anger sped,
Livid and black as is a pepper grain,

And on the part by which we first are fed
Pierced one of them; and then upon the ground
It fell before him, and remained outspread.

The wounded gazed on it, but made no sound.
Rooted he stood and yawning, scarce awake,
As seized by fever or by sleep profound.

It closely watched him and he watched the snake,
While from its mouth and from his wound 'gan swell
Volumes of smoke which joined one cloud to make.

Be Lucan henceforth dumb, nor longer tell
Of plagued Sabellus and Nassidius,
But, hearkening to what follows, mark it well.

Silent be Ovid: of him telling us
How Cadmus to a snake, and to a fount
Changed Arethuse, I am not envious;

For never of two natures front to front
In metamorphosis, while mutually
The forms their matter changed, he gives account.

'Twas thus that each to the other made reply:
Its tail into a fork the serpent split;
Bracing his feet the other pulled them nigh:

And then in one so thoroughly were knit
His legs and thighs, no searching could divine
At where the junction had been wrought in it.

The shape, of which the one lost every sign,
The cloven tail was taking; then the skin
Of one grew rough, the other's soft and fine.

I by the armpits saw the arms drawn in;
And now the monster's feet, which had been small,
What the other's lost in length appeared to win.

Together twisted, its hind feet did fall
And grew the member men are used to hide:
For his the wretch gained feet with which to crawl.

Dyed in the smoke they took on either side
A novel colour: hair unwonted grew
On one; the hair upon the other died.

The one fell prone, erect the other drew,
With cruel eyes continuing to glare,
'Neath which their muzzles metamorphose knew.

The erect to his brows drew his. Of stuff to spare
Of what he upward pulled, there was no lack;
So ears were formed on cheeks that erst were bare.

Of that which clung in front nor was drawn back,
Superfluous, on the face was formed a nose,
And lips absorbed the skin that still was slack.

His muzzle who lay prone now forward goes;
Backward into his head his ears he draws
Even as a snail appears its horns to lose.

The tongue, which had been whole and ready was
For speech, cleaves now; the forked tongue of the snake
Joins in the other: and the smoke has pause.

The soul which thus a brutish form did take,
Along the valley, hissing, swiftly fled;
The other close behind it spluttering spake,

Then, toward it turning his new shoulders, said
Unto the third: 'Now Buoso down the way
May hasten crawling, as I earlier sped.'

Ballast which in the Seventh Bolgia lay
Thus saw I shift and change. Be my excuse
The novel theme, if swerves my pen astray.

And though these things mine eyesight might confuse
A little, and my mind with fear divide,
Such secrecy they fleeing could not use

But that Puccio Sciancatto plain I spied;
And he alone of the companions three
Who came at first, was left unmodified.

For the other, tears, Gaville, are shed by thee.